Normal
by ko-drabbles
Summary: Keep on playing that song that I don't like, I just wanna feel normal for the night. Keep on kissing that guy that's not my type, I just wanna feel normal for the night. I should go, it's getting late, But I'ma keep on dancing 'till I feel okay. TW: Sensory Overload, Alcohol, Mild Sexual Content, Self-Hatred


The music was so loud.

Honestly, what was he even doing here? Tamaki might've been trying to drag him out, but he was now coming to the realisation that he shouldn't have indulged him. The floor was almost vibrating from the blaring speakers, some techno crap with no form or beauty. All he could give it was that it did raise adrenaline, but that wasn't a good thing for him in that moment. Honestly, it was pounding against his skull.

The lights were awful as well, if you could even call them that. Strobes never failed to mess with his head, even when he was just watching a film or the latest anime Renge forced him to endure. In the dark club, reds and greens only outlined the silhouettes of people around him in the hot, sweaty, over-packed room. No one seemed to have a single idea of what _personal space_ was, the way they crammed into the dance floor like tinned sardines.

The smoke that filled the club was also disgusting. It had a certain smell too it, much to... chemically. That couldn't be healthy, could it? He was certain that the authorities should be made aware of the carcinogen he and the other patrons might have been breathing in - he could almost feel the tumours growing.

Or maybe it was how stagnant and thick the air was? He could smell the burning fumes of cheap perfume and too-musky aftershave. It didn't help that it was obviously not much of a reputable establishment, judging by the unwanted sight he'd had of a man fingering some overly-enthusiastic, under-dressed woman against the bathroom wall, not caring that someone had unknowingly interrupted their near intangible _privacy_.

He should stop being so negative. Turn off his brain for the night and just be a normal teenager. That was the point of this little exercise, after all, and everyone else seemed to be having fun; Hikaru and Kaoru egging on Tamaki as he took shots that the bar. Kyoya didn't like vodka, the burn wasn't at all pleasant. When he'd first tried it, he couldn't even swallow, and ended up spitting it into the kitchen sink.

Still, it hardened his resolve. Maybe, if he could just act like a normal kid then... It'd be worth it. He'd enjoy himself. After all, it was obvious that not even his own friends wanted anything to do with him while he was off being miserable. Or... being himself, he supposed.

He didn't want to drink, but he still went to the bar, head foggy and feeling as if he was gliding even without the assistance of alcohol. It was autopilot. It was what he was supposed to do in this setting and, as the saying went, when in Rome. He'd probably find the whole thing more fun with a hazy filter overlapping the evening and stripping his inhibitions.

The shot of something sour and vaguely tasting of artificial cherry went down easier than vodka, so he ordered a couple more to get him started. He wasn't quite feeling it yet, but he'd pace himself; he might want to at least try acting like a stupid teenager, but his family would actually kill him if he poisoned himself or drowned in his own vomit. Not a pleasant experience.

At least the song had moved on to something he actually had some idea how to dance to, even if listening to it was the musical equivalent of shoving a metal file through his eardrum and into his brain.

He copied the others around him, trying to emulate what seemed so natural to them, hips swaying and arms in the air. He could feel the stares but felt more content when he realised that they were appreciative ones that raked up and down his lean body. Suddenly, the skinny jeans and black shirt didn't seem like such a wrong choice; bordering the line between what Kyoya Ootori was and what he _could be_ , if only for tonight.

What else was he meant to do, though? He'd taken a couple of shots, he was dancing to a song he hated and was being eye-fucked by a few different guys and girls. There was a step further, the path there but not that appealing. Still, it was... It was _normal_ , and something that _up-tight_ little Kyoya _wouldn't do_.

He turned back to look at one of the men who'd been staring unashamedly at his ass, dropping his hips a little lower and arching his back a little more. He could feel the sweat on his skin, feel the churning of his stomach, but ignored it. He could do it. He could abandon himself for a single night. He gave the man a wink.

He wasn't really what Kyoya went for in a guy, if he were honest with himself. He was older - not that Kyoya didn't ever had fantasies about older men, but this was the wrong kind. He wasn't a silver fox in a smart, three-piece suit, he was in some band t-shirt and baggy jeans. Attractive but scruffy, not the well-manicured look Kyoya tended to drool over.

Still, it was fine. It was normal.

They barely spoke, just danced together and the man squeezed his ass, telling him how tempting he looked. Kyoya was a month or two off eighteen, but that was alright. The man didn't know, and who was he to judge someone else's little preferences? Even if the word _jail-bait_ was murmured in his ear, clear as a bell even with the music, accompanied with teeth grazing his neck.

He could see Kaoru out of the corner of his eye, giving him a concerned look, but he just waved it off with a smug grin.

A few more shots, a few more awful songs, and the man was tugging him outside by the wrist as the lights and colours seemed to blur and spin around him. He wasn't quite sure what was happening anymore, the alcohol and empty stomach hitting him harder than he thought they would. Everything was certainly wrapped in that hazy filter, but it was more terrifying than relaxing; he wasn't even sure if he could feel the ground beneath his feet.

He felt the cold night air, however, and the hard wall of the club. He felt hands on him, roaming over his thighs, his ass, under his shirt. Lips pressed roughly to his, tongue slipping passed and the man's fingertips rubbing over one of his nipples just so, and Kyoya moaned into the kiss. It was pretty much an automatic reaction, he wasn't sure he even wanted the man's hands on him, but wasn't that what he wanted? To stop thinking?

The man ended up writing his number on the back of his hand, and Kyoya only took a moment before staggering back inside.

He still didn't feel _normal_.


End file.
